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Let’s get this out of the way: It’s Nine-Eleven. National Rudy Giuliani Day.
Been there. Got as close as anyone remotely sane would care to from the 125th Street station on Metro North and I will, as they’re stressing on TV tonight, Never Forget. I’ll never forget thinking, essentially assuming two close friends who worked in those towers were killed and not knowing anything to the contrary until the wee hours of 9/12. I’ll never forget that it took four hours to get from Manhattan to Stamford, and another two to get from Stamford to Darien (check the map). I’ll never forget those grim pillars of smoke that could been seen even from Connecticut or the low altitude military helicopters doing search light sweeps of my backyard and I’ll never forget using the lilting phrase THOSE MOTHER FUCKERS when, at some point late into that night, my sainted, elderly parents finally got through on the mostly down phone lines to ask if we were all okay.
Even under those circumstances, my father was quick (and correct) to tell me to control my mouth.
Of course, THOSE MOTHER FUCKERS had by that time become a sort of zombified community chant; three words that just about everyone I came into contact with in those mad hours stumbled around muttering. Sometimes softly, sometimes violently, always with tears shining in the corners of their eyes. So yeah, I for one along with thousands of others will “never forget.” Now take your sanctimonious I’m-Insecure-Because-It-Didn’t-Happen-He
On to today, 9/11/08.
Hell Week is over and the move is done. Not complete, mind you, because when we move, you will agree, we have a habit of leaving those dozens of boxfuls of the shit we don’t really need anyway stacked-up in the hallway and dining room. Oh well. ‘Tis to be human.
Ms. Daisy has started her new job and thus far loves it. I’ve managed to hit a few out of the park in my own work and I’m at last feeling, if not a lot secure (it’s still advertising, after all), at least a little loved. The D’s rug rats are enrolled at school and/or daycare asylums and I’m able to make good on my financial responsibilities pertaining to my own children again. After the new school year kick-off, summer vacations, my hide-worthy unemployment and the dreaded move my kids and I are back into more regular communication habits as well, so all things considered life doesn’t suck.
But I know a woman, a neighbor at the time, who lost her husband to the Towers that day, this day in 2001. They had had an argument over something stupid the night before and he left for work that morning—and she allowed him to leave—without the usual kiss and “I love you.”
Moving doesn’t suck. Even being a thousand miles away from family and friends and specifically ones own children doesn’t even suck. Not compared to what that woman will “never forget.”
That sucks.
And frankly? That’s the very form of “never forget” I wish I could remember on a daily basis.
Especially on those days that aren’t %#@! Nine-Eleven.
But its so important.
On 9/11 and every other day of the year....
-SML